


The Pact (or how Warlocks get their spell slots)

by DiseasedBreeze



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Blowjobs (Mentioned), Bondage, Devil!Ra's, DnD AU, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Fiend - Freeform, Halloween, M/M, Magic!AU, Non-Consensual Bondage, Sounding, Summoning, Tentacle Bondage, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Violence (mentioned), Warlock - Freeform, Wizard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiseasedBreeze/pseuds/DiseasedBreeze
Summary: Tim was only a third level wizard, he’d barely been accepted to a school of magic. He wasn’t capable of intimidating an imp, let alone the pit fiend his botched ritual had ended up summoning. He had spent many nights looking into the night sky, praying that someone somewhere would give him what he wanted. Now he knows how bitterly foolish that desire had been. It would have been better if his prayers had gone unheard forever. Tim was a third level wizard, but now he was something else too. He was also a first level warlock and it is his patron who stands in the circle in front of him.Happy Halloween, have some tentacle devil sex~!
Relationships: Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	The Pact (or how Warlocks get their spell slots)

Bruce had started noticing the changes. His apprentice had always been focused to a fault, spending all his time pouring over the books, staying up late and spending every waking moment on study. In the last few weeks since his acceptance letter from the school of magic Bruce had been worried he was researching some dangerous things. Things had gotten better since then, in some ways at least. Tim’s magic had developed exponentially but he’d become even more closed off to his master.

Bruce was worried, but he still didn’t know what his apprentice was doing when he was asleep, or the reason his magic was growing stronger. Tim hoped to keep it that way. His folly should only fall on his own head, his master shouldn’t suffer for his apprentice’s failure. It would help if he _stopped_ failing but that his own fault. Still his breaths are coming sharply as he takes the chalk from its hiding place and starts to inscribe the circle. The runes that had once been dangerous forbidden knowledge are now more familiar to him than any of his wizard spells.

It takes barely a flicker of power to open the now familiar pathway to the nine hells. At first the feeling of fiendish energy following through him had felt like the strongest spell he could ever use. Now it feels like a cantrip.

Tim was only a third level wizard, he’d barely been accepted to a school of magic. He wasn’t capable of intimidating an imp, let alone the pit fiend his botched ritual had ended up summoning. He had spent many nights looking into the night sky, praying that someone somewhere would give him what he wanted. Now he knows how bitterly foolish that desire had been. It would have been better if his prayers had gone unheard forever.

The pit fiend watches from the circle. The runes hold him about as efficiently as a daisy chain would hold a human, but he doesn’t want to break them. He’s here because he wants to be. He’s even in human form, well humanish. While his body was that of tall elder Calashite man with a hawkish beauty to his stern features, his eyes shone green with the supernatural light of his devil’s sight. Perhaps he had a tail today, perhaps he had wings folded behind his back, but Tim can’t tell behind the green and gold robes of a Calashite Master Wizard.

A cruel joke to look like a mentor when he was closer to a captor.

Tim was a third level wizard, but now he was something else too. He was also a first level warlock and it is his patron who stands in the circle in front of him. He swallows and tries to still his nervousness. The warlock’s pact could not be broken, he had already sold his soul to the devil in front of him, not intentionally but Ra’s _loved_ to remind him he was doomed to an eternity serving in the devil’s palace in hell.

His heart still thuds in his throat as the devil’s eyes fall on him and he tastes vomit in the back of his throat.

“Strip.” The devil orders casually.

The taste of vomit rises and he swallows it. It’s a familiar order and he’s already moving to obey it. It feels like he’s wearing gloves as he slips the robe from his shoulders. The devil’s eyes seem to burn into him as he strips off his undershirt as well; the devil is scanning him with his devil sight. There is nothing Tim could do to harm him, but Ra’s didn’t become a pit fiend by letting his guard down. Tim bites his lip to keep himself from shivering. He was a scholar, a student pale and thin from hours spent pouring over his books, the heat of the devil’s gaze was unfamiliar to him.

He feels very self-conscious as he bends down to remove his underwear, aware of just how frail the flesh of his body was compared to the devil’s. No matter how many times he’d done this he still felt the fear of anticipation. Ra’s didn’t just outmatch him physically, he had healing magic too. He had no need to be gentle to preserve the life of his summoner.

“Kneel.” is the next order and one he’s familiar with.

As Tim kneels he hopes the devil’s cock is going to be human too, it was still humiliating but he remembered with dread the thick red of the devil’s real cock with the hooked barbs that had torn open his throat. Ra’s had continued to fuck him, tearing him open while Tim choked on his blood, then afterwards healed him like nothing had happened. Every time he was asked to kneel the memory returned, sharpened with trauma.

He lowers his head, waiting for whatever fresh torture the devil wished to bestow in exchange for his spells for the day. He can feel the devil’s eyes on him.

The devil taps a long black claw against one of his rings with a small clicking sound.

“On all fours.” comes the next soft spoken order. There’s no malevolent glee in the devil’s voice, just the quiet assurance of one whom expects his orders to be obeyed.

Tim’s heart is thudding in his throat as he obeys, getting down on all fours like an animal. His body tenses with anticipation. His cock twinges, both from the memories of debauchery and out of fear. Even though he’s looking at the floor where a thin line of red light an inch from his face is the only thing separating him from the trim of the devil’s robe he hunts for any clue as to what Ra's is going to do to him. The devil doesn’t as much as twitch but by the time Tim sees the inky black tentacles they’ve already lashed around him. _Evard’s black tentacles_ , a small terrified part of his brain identifies the spell to try and distract him from what it was doing to him.

The oily black magical construct is smooth, slick and stronger than rope, he’s instantly restrained, the loops lashing his hands and legs together. One circles his neck like a collar, he feels the pointed tip of it slither up his chin, then it presses against his lips and into his mouth. He tries not to choke on it. The tentacle doesn’t taste like anything but it’s slick and colder than anything living. The tentacles holding his limbs crawl up them, coiling around them up like serpents reaching to his shoulders. The cold shocks him as one tentacle dips between his legs and curls around his cock. He tries not to yelp at the sudden cold and the tentacles lift him up. He feels them twist, forcibly repositioning his body without him. Tim tries to focus on breathing past the tentacle in his throat. If Ra’s made this an attack the tentacles could easily crush him to death. Wizards were hardly known for their physical hardiness.

The tentacles around his head move enough for him to see the devil looking down at him with a smile of faint amusement. Ra’s rests a hand on his chest, the devil’s body temperature slightly higher than that of a human. The long black claws that could gut a man with a swipe prick the wizard’s skin. There’s nothing Tim could do, not even scream, as the devil’s hands wander across his bare skin like the devil is examining fruits at the marketplace for ripeness. The tentacles bend him and twist him at the devil’s whim to show off whatever piece of him the devil wishes to see.

Eventually the devil is satisfied and the tentacles lower him again, dragging him across the floor until his bound hands are clawing at the floorboards and his lower half is entirely across the bounds of the summoning circle. Tim tries to look behind him but the tentacle around his neck won’t let him. He hears the movement of cloth and the devil’s hand stroking across his buttocks but he can’t see what his lower half is like under the robe.

The tentacles twist, forcing his legs apart and Tim bites the tentacle in his mouth when the devil thrusts in. The devil’s cock is thick and hot but human. He doesn’t have time to be relieved, the tentacles are still holding him frozen and uncomfortable tightly and not having barbs doesn’t make this _easy._ He tries to force himself to relax, to make his body accept the devil’s intrusion, but even though he’s prepped himself for this he can’t keep from tensing. The devil’s cock is just so hot inside him, bigger than anything he’d experimented with before a devil decided the virgin wizard would make a better fucktoy. The tentacles that hold him are so cold and the devil’s cock is so warm it’s keeping him from thinking about anything else. He can’t disassociate, can’t separate his mind from the sensations overwhelming his body. Even as the tentacles squirm deeper inside him, slipping in alongside the devil’s cock to open him up wider his cock has grown treacherously hard in the tentacle’s icy grasp.

It always felt good, even when he was hurt, even when he was humiliated and broken like an animal it felt good. The heat that runs across his body isn’t like an earthly fire, it’s more like a fever heat, something sick and unnatural but gods, he craves it. His body shudders from it, shocks running through him with every thrust of the devil’s hips. He can barely keep from losing his mind in the pleasure, let alone keep himself from moaning around the tentacle in his mouth. The heat radiates from inside him, the brand Ra's had put on his soul on their first meeting responding to the master's call. It barred him from every afterlife but that of Ra's himself and as the devil calls on it Tim feels like his soul is trying to tear itself from his body but the agony is secondary to the _pleasure._ Even his greatest achievements in magic hadn’t felt as good as fiendish power filling up his body.

Ra’s grips his head, his claws biting into Tim’s scalp, and he’s still rock hard even as blood starts to matt his dark hair. The fine tip of one tentacle flicks over the head of his cock then slithers inside him, running down his entire length and oh, oh, it’s good, it’s good. It should hurt, it _does_ hurt but the hurt doesn't matter when he feels this good.

Tim shivers, his nails biting into the floorboards as Ra’s rolls his nipples between his claws, keeping his thrusts casual and unhurried. Tim can feel the orgasm building in him, an electric shock of pleasure that starts in his cock and spreads through his entire body in building shocks of anticipation. It’s too much, too much, it feels too much to be contained in his skin and at the same time like he’s never been more in his body. The tentacle in his mouth slips backwards, letting the wizard moan with saliva dripping down his chin and thrusts back in, reaching all the way down Tim’s throat at the same time the devil’s cock spears into him. It keeps the same pace as it fucks his mouth and he moans around it.

The devil’s sharp claws open tiny wounds in his skin, cutting into his chest and nipples as the devil speeds up his thrusts and the power builds and builds...

And breaks.

Tim whites out. His cum paints the tentacle in his cock and he goes limp against the tentacles as all the tension leaves his body.

He slumps, exhausted, and as always the pleasure seems to ebb too soon. Even though he _knows_ he shouldn’t he can’t stop himself for trying to keep it a little longer, to keep that roiling sick heat in his skin that made him feel more powerful as a whore than he ever had as a wizard for just one more second. When it’s gone, as always, he feels cold and hollow and hungry for another hit. No matter how much fiendish power his patron deigned to share with him it never was, never could be, enough.

Ra’s chuckles, licks the blood from his claws, and cums in his mortal toy. The human’s breath hikes with pain as his patron fills him with scorching hot fiendish seed as a reminder of his eventual fate. Making a mortal into a pleasure devil would be an achievement that would take millennia, but mortal lives were brief and he had the time to allow his pet project some fleeting pretense of freedom before the work truly begun...


End file.
